Disney Drinks Popov
by westpoints
Summary: complete 'Why didn't you just bring the rubbing alcohol, you wouldn't have to pay for it' Mark comforts a depressed Addison, preAddek of any kind. Disney movies and first kisses abound. Maddison friendship.


Oh yes, I have returned, with another fun Maddison ficlet. Yay me!

In reference to the Disney movies, I'm not too sure if ALL of them have the effect I'm talking about, but I'm pretty sure about them. Maybe not Sleeping Beauty. But really...

Disclaimer: I have no part in Grey's Anatomy, because if I did...

* * *

Her first kiss with Derek was in her old apartment. It was their month anniversary, and she'd made dinner. It wasn't much, macaroni and cheese, but there was...magic? Sparkly lights? Italian guys with bad mustaches singing along with accordions? Something in the air, at least.

Her kisses with Mark were more pronounced in that they mostly occurred in a whirlwind of lust, guilt, and bad metaphors involving whirlwinds. But those have nothing to do with this story, because this story is about Addison and Mark's _first _kiss. Okay. Here we go. Page break...here.

* * *

It had come to her attention, over her long, illustrious life, that Disney animated movies were, indeed, timeless. Now, approaching her thirtieth birthday, Addison Montgomery curled up on the leather couch, shoved a handful of popcorn into her mouth, and watched Belle confess her love for the hideous beast, which turned the beast into a beautiful specimen of the male species. Then they kissed, and it could be safely assumed by the redheaded woman that everyone lived happily ever after.

It had also come to her attention, through her recent study of said animated movies (with the exception of Pixar. Pixar made everything look real, and there was no way these things were real. Fools) that _whenever_ the princess and the prince finally kiss, there is always a gentle wind that whips up right at the moment. To continue the incredibly horrible cliché, the girl _always _has wonderful hair that's made for streaming in the wind. Sleeping Beauty (Indoors!). Beauty and the Beast. Pocahontas. Aladdin. Even Hunchback of Notre Dame.

As though the wind was supposed to make everything more sappily romantic. As though animated emotropic weather conditions were supposed to make her sad, wildly successful yet personally deprived life happy with little bells attached. Her first kisses with any guy was noticeably lacking in stirring breezes, she recalled.

Her hair wasn't made for streaming in the wind anyway, which she was thankful for.

She would rather shoot herself before being caught in a Disney movie cliché.

Addison Montgomery depressed a button on the remote, in a noticeably worse mood than she had been before she popped in the VHS. Damn.

Derek's on call. Cary's _at_ the hospital. Karen's with Chad in Boston.

Taking a deep breath of resignation, she picked up the phone to dial the one number she could count on.

"Hello?" A voice mumbled.

"Mark?"

"Addi?" She could hear his smile.

"What's going on?"

"You. Are you. Do you want to come over. And just. Play poker?"

"Addi, it's beautiful outside. I know you live in a fifth floor apartment, but you must have something else besides poker." She sighed.

"Egyptian rat screw?"

"You, my dear, are in great need of cheering up. I'll be over."

She burrowed further into the couch and continued eating popcorn. Goddammit, she was almost 30, it was okay to eat a whole bag of popcorn and not breathe fresh air.

As she neared the end of the bag, a buzzing sound made her jump. She got up and ambled over to the door.

"It's unlocked."

"Come outside." She frowned.

"No."

"Oh, come on. Just go out on your balcony. You have like a thousand square feet of it."

She heaved another sigh. The window to the balcony was opened, and she took a deep breath as she stepped outside. Ah, the fresh smell of inner New York City. She almost choked on it. She looked carefully over the railing to find Mark standing on the sidewalk. She could only imagine the sick Romeo and Juliet scene they made.

"Pushover," he shouted with a grin. The people milling around him didn't spare a glance.

"I didn't feel like arguing," she yelled back. He held up a paper sack. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Yeah. It's not the good kind, though. I only had ten bucks on me."

"Oh no."

"Oh yes." She beckoned him up. "Stay out there." She rolled her eyes and leaned against the railing. A few minutes later, he reappeared in her kitchen, rooting around in her cabinets.

"You got up here fast."

"I practice every chance I get," he told her, his head stuck deep inside a cupboard. "Where the hell are your shot glasses?"

"Well, if you'd just look more—" she stopped as his head hit the top of a shelf.

"Found 'em." He joined her on the balcony bearing the sack, two shot glasses, and a bottle of Diet Coke he snagged from her fridge. He smiled at her, and she glared back.

"Gimme." He handed over the sack in defeat. "Oh, Mark! _Popov_! Geez, why didn't you just bring the rubbing alcohol, you wouldn't have to _pay_ for it."

"Now come on. It's vodka—"

"Rubbing alcohol," she interrupted petulantly.

"Vodka," he continued patiently, "and you look like you could use some."

"To choke and die from," Addison muttered. Mark poured generous amounts into both glasses and handed her one. "What are we toasting to?"

"We have to toast?" She glared at him again.

"If I'm going to drink shitty vodka, I need a reason." He grinned.

"Okay. Um. How about. We toast to...how about we toast to you and Derek getting married?" She snorted.

"Never gonna happen."

"And why not?"

"Cos he's arrogant, a jerk, and his hair looks bad." She smiled at him, anticipating his next statement.

"I recall you saying that about me."

"But then you cut your hair."

"Mm. Okay, well, let's toast to you and Derek never getting married."

"Amen." They clinked their glasses and downed the liquid. Addison screwed up her face and wrenched the Diet Coke from Mark's grasp, drinking straight from the bottle. She handed it back to Mark, whose mouth had tightened into a straight line.

"Rubbing alcohol indeed. I forgot how bad Popov was."

"Don't forget again." He took a swig from the Diet Coke.

"You know, it's like we're kissing." She scoffed.

"Men." He poured another shot. "Nono. No more."

"Aw, come on. You don't look any better."

"Oh, thanks." She picked up the glass and downed it anyway, quickly pouring and taking another one before snatching the Coke from his hand and chugging.

"That's attractive."

"I know. Just for you, Mark." He took the Coke back.

"This is really like we're kissing."

"Is that all you're thinking about?"

"Yes," he said simply. They did a few more shots in silence before she spoke up again.

"You...you realize that this is just between you and me." He looked interested. "I'll...I'll kiss you. Because I'm an awesome friend."

"Well. You are an awesome friend." He wraped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. "I would _love_," he whispered against her lips, "to kiss you." She smiled. "But. I'm not going to. Because I'm an awesome friend. And not nearly as smashed as you are." He turned around and took the Popov with him.

"Mark!"

"Addi, you're drunk and depressed and a...great friend. But I won't take advantage of that."

"So I'm just unkissable in every way."

"Addi. Please."

"Just absolutely so unattractive that even you, Mark Sloane, won't kiss me."

"Now see, you're obviously drunk, and every man can see that you are a very—"

"Oh, shut up." It was long and...well, not sweet. More rubbing alcohol tasting. But he hung on and kissed her back, tender, a bit chaste, no tongue. There was no melting in the arms, no tingling sensations. Just the warm feeling of a friend doing another friend a favor. Exactly who the favor was being done for wasn't quite clear, but in their state, it didn't matter. It was a good one. A very good one.

The effect was ruined by a passing breeze which blew through her non-streaming-in-the-wind-worthy hair, and the sudden jostling of the liquor bottle, which caused them to jump apart and demonstrate their awesome reflexes by fumbling with the glass at least ten times before it smashed to the ground.

Stupid Disney clichés. And shitty alcohol.

-end-

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Those of you who are fortunate enough not to know: I don't care WHAT you think about alcohol, Popov is the shittiest vodka you can get. Seriously. Rubbing alcohol is better for your brain cells.

Who caught the _Lady and the Tramp_ reference? Huh? Huh? Haha, this was so much fun.

Review!


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